


Heaven Without You

by ShipperInFandomland



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Feels, Hurt, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss, M/M, One Shot, Pain, Sad, Why Did I Write This?, graves, loss of friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperInFandomland/pseuds/ShipperInFandomland
Summary: Who would win in a fight to the death?Aziraphale?OrCrowley?And what happens when one of them does win?





	Heaven Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look! Another one-shot I wrote while procrastinating and texting my friend so it's probably a mess but hopefully it isn't terrible XD.

An angel and a demon stood in a field, one holding a sword made by heaven and the other with nothing but their serpentine qualities. They stared at each other, neither one of them wanting to be there but were being forced by their respective sides to fight to the death.

  
Crowley was insisting that the angel kill him, allowing the angel to live on while the demon himself perished. The angel deserved to live more then he did.  
Aziraphale hated it, hated all of it, trying to protest, insisting there’s another way out, that it doesn’t have to end like this. He didn’t want to die and certainly didn't want to lose his friend.

  
Crowley just knelt in front of him, trying to act calm and trying to hide the tears that were running down his face. He bowed his head, not being able to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, not being able to say goodbye.

  
Aziraphale held his blade shakingly in front of him, his knuckles white as he had the sword in an almost death-like grip, his face wet with tears and sobs forcing their way up his throat.  
Crowley was prepared for a strike that didn’t come, and when he realized that his angel can’t do this, won’t do this, he stood up. There was only one option left now. He ran at Aziraphale, fangs bared like he’s going to attack.

  
Aziraphale’s soldier instinct kicked in and he shoved the blade forward, just like the demon predicted he would.  
Crowley relaxed at the last second, wrapping his arms around his angel as he tried to ignore the tearing pain in his stomach. He just griped on tight to Aziraphale, using all his strength to stop from falling.

  
“ _I’m sorry.”_

  
Aziraphale felt the hilt of the blade dig into his side, but it didn’t matter. That wasn’t what made him stiffen with terror.  
What did petrify him was the warm, wet liquid that was quickly covering his hands.

Crowley tried to continue standing but he felt his knees starting to buckle under him, and he started to fall, dragging the angel down with him.

Aziraphale let go of the sword and tried to catch Crowley as best as he could, slowly lowering the demon to the floor.  
“Why....you knew I would attack you why did you-“ Aziraphale stammered out, trying not to break down.

“I couldn’t kill you, Angel.” Crowley whispered. His voice was growing weaker as his body shut down. “You needed to live.”

Aziraphale’s hands were shaking, tears were falling by the gallon, and he had forgotten to breathe. “We were supposed to be together, Crowley.” He muttered, staring into the yellow eyes he adored so much. “Going to the Ritz, feeding the ducks, being happy.”

“Well,” Crowley laughed hoarsely, or tried to, as he was interrupted by a cough. A few droplets of blood flew out his mouth and he smiled sadly at his angel. He took Aziraphale’s hand for a second before he continued. “That went down like a lead balloon.”

The demons’ eyes glazed over with those words, his hold on the angel’s hand relaxing. The small sad smile Crowley had been wearing fell to a sense of neutrality. He almost looked peaceful, as if he was sleeping, had it not been for his now dull eyes.

“Crowley?!” Aziraphale exclaimed in panic, shaking the body of his friend as if to wake him up. After a few seconds, he stopped, Crowley in his lap and the angel’s arms around the serpent. He breathed heavily before looking up at the sky and screaming.

Aziraphale let everything out in that scream, his pain, his sorrow, his anger. All of it came pouring out of his mouth, and it could be heard all over the universe, from the depths of Hell to the pearly gates of Heaven.

There was a slow clapping behind him.

“Well done, Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s voice said in his usual calm manner as the archangel approached from behind. “The filthy demon is dead at last.”

Aziraphale gently laid Crowley’s body on the ground, using two fingers to close the serpent’s eyes and he stood up and pulled the sword out of his friend.

“Now, if you’ll just come with me,” Gabriel continued, stopping behind Aziraphale. “We’ll get you cleaned u-“

Aziraphale didn’t give him the chance to finish. The angel whirled around and drove his sword through the archangel’s chest.

Gabriel gasped lightly, looking up at Aziraphale with wide violet eyes before crumbling to the floor.

Aziraphale didn’t look fazed as he yanked the blade out of his dead boss’s body. He dropped the sword and went back to Crowley’s body, picking him up like a husband would his new wife before stepping over the threshold of their new home.

The two vanished, and all was still before Aziraphale returned to the spot a few hours later, empty handed, to retrieve his blade. He felt its weight in his hands before walking away with heavy steps.

He was going to kill all of them. Both angels and demons.

Every.  
Last.  
One.

* * *

It was five years before Aziraphale returned to the tree. It had grown strong in the time since it had been planted, and its leaves had greened quite nicely.

Aziraphale sat near the base of the tree, about three feet away from the trunk. He stared at the tree with a sad smile, thinking to himself a moment before speaking.

“I did it, Crowley.” He said in a low tone. “I killed all of them. I....I thought it would give me peace, closure.” The angel hung his head in shame. “It didn’t. It didn’t fill the hole that you left behind. I don’t think anything ever can.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, a few tears slithering down his face. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“I put the Bentley in storage. I know you would have wanted me to give it away but I simply can’t. Your flat is still there, and I make sure your plants are growing as well as they did when you were taking care of them. I think they miss you, though.” Aziraphale laughed softly to himself, sucking in a sharp breath and glancing away for a moment. “But, soon, there’ll be no more demons or angels left in this blasted world.”

The angel miracled up a bottle of wine and a singular glass. He poured the dark red liquid and stared at it for a moment. He had picked Crowley’s favorite for this moment, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“I’m coming to you, Crowley. Wherever you are, I’m coming to you.” He whispered as more tears fell down his face. “I’ll see you soon, you wily old serpent.” Aziraphale laughed sadly as he poured the wine into the soil. He stood up, and took out his sword. He looked at the blade for a moment, this being the very blade that had killed so many of his kind and of those who were his kind. After a second of silence he plunged the blade into the ground, right in front of the carving of Crowley’s tattoo in the tree.

Aziraphale gave it one last small smile before walking away from his friend’s grave, leaving behind his wine, his sword, and the last words he’d ever speak.


End file.
